


Singing Rain

by Coprolite



Category: B.A.P
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coprolite/pseuds/Coprolite
Summary: Youngjae's iPhone app shows no forecast of rain.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 9/17/13

The sky’s grey, the kind of grey that only clouds seem to achieve. There’s no specks of familiar light blue or puffs of white that are either eggshell or vanilla. The sky’s monochromatic and perfect. There’s no clear distinction between what is really cloudy and sky, and Youngjae likes it like that. It’s all kinds of nondescript but simplicity at its best. It makes him dewy-eyed.

As he enjoys the silence of the scenery, he wonders if cloud grey is a color––he’s never heard of it, though, so maybe not. It’s a shame, he thinks. 

 

He sighs and chilled autumn wind runs through his blond tresses almost like gentle hands playing with his hair. He welcomes in the cold air, letting it freeze up his insides before breathing out some semblance of a sigh. 

 

(and an intangible force steals his breath away, carrying it up higher and higher into the placid air, until it's nonexistent again.)

 

Youngjae only feels slightly lame for sitting on the roof of his apartment complex and doing what could be only considered as the complete opposite of star gazing. It’s morning, and an unholy hour for anyone to be up. However, a small smile finds itself on his face nonetheless, the kind reserved for when no one else is around. 

 

From his spot from up above, Youngjae can see into the close distance, where the sea resides. Its waves are not roaring or crashing, or anything of the sort, they’re just kind of there––drifting. 

 

Youngjae’s nose scrunches as a whiff of the sea air hits his senses. It reminds him of saltwater taffy, and the thought reaffirms for Youngjae that he’s running on a lack of sleep. 

 

Without tearing his eyes away from the still waters, he lamely gropes for the cup of coffee sitting beside him on the ledge of the roof. Its paper rim is disheveled by incessant bitemarks and the lightest of stains. The styrofoam cup is empty and he nibbles on the edge some more. The air still lingers with bitter coffee; if not made more pungent from the crispness of the salty sea. 

 

Aside than the smell, the only other reminders of the latte's existence resides at the bottom of the cup. The last few drops having come together to form some amorphous blob, before eventually settling into the smooth material.

 

A rush of ice skims past his skin and Youngjae wants to climb down from the roof––not because of the frigid cold or the way his fingers look almost purple, but to honestly just get more coffee. He longs for swirls of whipped cream as smooth as the winter weather. However, he doesn't leave, not yet, at least. He likes the way his frost bitten face feels and how wisps of white billows through the wind slowly after leaving his lips. Without a doubt one of the benefits of living by the sea is the view and the calmness. It's all so serene and picturesque that he wishes a photograph could actually capture the way he feels at that moment. 

 

The sea breeze tickles at his nose again, this time drawing out a sneeze. He grips the ledge tightly to ensure he doesn't fall. For a second it feels like his soul’s trying to escape him, so he awkwardly says "bless you," to himself. 

 

(“bless me.” is what he means.)

 

He crawls back from the ledge, satisfied with the day's sightseeing and confirmation. Youngjae for sure doesn’t understand soul searching, but he’s sure he’ll get the hang of it soon like Himchan says. The eldest attests that some of his best epiphanies transpired on their apartment’s roof. But that’s Himchan. 

 

The blond pats his black jeans down, ridding the small gravel and dust coating his person. He smiles. It's ten am on a Saturday and Youngjae could use more caffeine in his system. 

 

God, it’s early. 

 

He heads to the door leading back down to the apartment. He struggles with the handle a bit, as the wind works against his favor and pushes on him. After a few minutes, the door relents and opens, causing him to fumble back slightly. 

 

He curses the air for the first time that morning and walks down the stairs to head to the Starbucks right next door.

 

When he steps into the coffee chain the foreign environment causes his body to be enveloped with a sense of warmth he didn’t know he was lacking outside. The place is sparse at the hour, the real crowds having been in earlier: businessmen and college students lining up to get their daily fix of mocha. There’s only a few people still present. 

 

The barista takes his order, his name tag reading Junhong. Youngjae takes a moment to record the kid's face, not recognizing him as one of the workers he sees so often. They have a short conversation about nothing in particular, it's nice though. Youngjae hopes to get acquainted with him more, maybe get discounts from him like he does the other workers. 

 

He goes to sit at one of the satin chairs by the large window and cushy chairs. His eyes gloss over the titles of the magazines and newspapers which litter the knee-high table as he waits for his venti Pumpkin Spice or whatever coffee. He's not quite sure what he ordered, he just knows he wanted to be adventurous, and you don't get more wild than changing up your coffee. 

 

Youngjae decides that after he finishes his pumpkin thing, he should head towards the university's library to study up for the classes he's been lacking in. The mere thought of studying makes his eyes droop in a tired fashion. He's sure that the hours he stays up late studying, as well, aren't a benefit to his already evident eyebags or deteriorating health. 

 

His name is called right after something named a Caramel Macchiato and Youngjae tries to recall if that's what he really ordered. The male brushes it off and attributes his fading memory to too much time spent in the cold. He lifts himself up and treads towards his coffee, groaning as he makes the long trek up to his drink. 

 

Junghong hands it to him with a smile and then heads to fulfill the orders of other awaiting customers, which is really only one person, probably. 

 

Youngjae's hands are warmed up by the confection as he heads back to his spot by the window. He takes a tentative sip before his face messes up from the overly bitter taste. The first wave of sensations kills his taste buds slightly, before, as if to apologize, it soothes him with sweetness. 

 

He can't decide whether or not he enjoys the torture and the immediate relief that ensues from the menu item. His tongue quickly swipes his bottom lip and is shocked once more with bitterness and a side of burnt caramel. Well, Youngjae thinks, I spent five dollars, might as well finish it. 

 

Youngjae grips his Caramel Macchiato in both hands, ridding himself of the remnants of frigidness caused by the low temperature outside. He takes in a bit more of the coffee, growing accustomed to the taste. It warms up his throat. 

 

He grabs yesterday’s paper off the coffee table and begins to read. He’s amusing himself with the comics, jumping from smiling at the humor and admiring the artwork and styles. Deep down he finds Garfield adorable. 

 

Paper in one hand and coffee in the other, all he’s really missing now is some cake, but he’ll survive. 

 

He's in the middle of restraining a smile from an old Calvin and Hobbes strip when Junhong takes a seat by him, still dressed in the company’s green apron. He’s got his own coffee and slumps in the chair. The barista looks like he’s honestly had the life sucked out of him. Youngjae can’t help but try to conceal a laugh. 

 

Junhong looks at him with a raised brow and a smile, too. 

 

“Tough first day, huh?” Youngjae inquires taking a sip from his caffeinated confection. 

 

“You wouldn’t believe the half of it.” Junhong playfully groans as he slides further down into the chair, like some beaten down ragdoll (and with his strikingly blond hair and pale skin, maybe he was indeed a doll). 

 

Youngjae looks at Junhong’s forlorn form with slight amusement, "The tragic life of a Starbucks employee, ay?" he then laughs as he turns the paper to the next page.

 

"Well, I wouldn't put it nearly as dramatic, but yes." 

 

Youngjae shakes his head in amusement and drinks a bit more of the macchiato, trying to keep the wave of bitterness at bay. 

 

Junhong seems to notice Youngjae's contorted face, "Not a fan of the drink?"

 

Youngjae shakes his head dismally and places both the cup and newspaper onto the coffee table. 

 

"Yeah, I can't say I like that one much, either." Junhong takes a generous gulp of his whatever mixture, "I prefer it made upside down, that way all the coffee can spread evenly." 

 

Youngjae shrugs his shoulder, “Maybe I’ll get it that way next time.”––whatever that means––“What are you drinking?” 

 

“Raspberry Cheesecake. It’s off the secret menu,” he drinks some more, some white foam stains his pink lips. 

 

“Oh.” Youngjae says, unaware that a secret menu even existed despite his loyal patronage over the years. 

 

Junhong holds his cup out to him, “Wanna try some?” He’s leaning over in his chair slightly to pass the drink off. His long fingers are wrapped around the base. Youngjae’s contemplating whether or not it’s rude to steal Junhong’s coffee upon their first meeting, and he thinks maybe the second time is more appropriate. “I’ll pass. You have to buy me my own coffee first before we share one intimately, you know?” 

 

Junhong smiles and shows off two perfect rows of teeth, “I’ll keep that in mind...” his words trail off as he realizes he hasn’t caught the other blond's name yet. 

 

“Youngjae.” 

 

“Youngjae.” Junhong repeats, making an effort to remember. 

 

The two get further acquainted, feeling more comfortable with each other as they were both on a first name bases, although, in his head, Youngjae sometimes refers to Junhong as the Barista. It makes things in his mind sound more professional, in some odd way. Youngjae’s just weird like that. 

 

A customer finally enters the quiet shop while they’re talking about Junhong’s hobby of skateboarding. The customer stands by the cash register for about a minute until Youngjae finally pokes Junhong out of his excited ramblings, “Umm... not to be rude or anything, but shouldn’t you be working right now?” Youngjae nods in the general direction of the patron. 

 

Junhong checks his wristwatch, “Oh shit,” he exclaims, “my breaks over!” He scrambles straight up from his chair, nearly knocking over his own coffee. “It was really nice meeting you, come back again tomorrow, or something.” Junhong pushes the unfinished Raspberry Cheesecake drink into Youngjae’s hands, “Here,” he mouthed before rushing off to his shift. 

 

The lone blond looks down at the drink before taking an experimental taste. It’s sweet, Youngjae notes, with obvious hints of raspberry. He likes it infinitely better than his Caramel Macchiato, which about lost all its heat a while ago. He looks down at the two drinks in his hands and decides to trash the cold caramel foam for the hotter raspberry. He figured it wasn’t really wasting money, since the second drink was free. Besides, his first one was much too bitter, anyway. 

 

The clock on the wall tells Youngjae it’s somewhere around noon and he should bolt it towards the library if he has any hope of retaining the nonsensical info necessary for passing his college courses. 

 

On his way out, Junhong waves at him and shouts that he should carry an umbrella, something about rain approaching.

 

He responds with a hum, suggesting he had heard the advice before leaving for the library half an hour away. The weather application on his iPhone says nothing about rain, so whatever.

 

 

However, when it’s seven at night and there’s a flood falling from the sky, it’s sort of hard to just brush off the weather. Youngjae isn't a fan of sunshine either, though, so he's somewhere between feeling elated and angry. Obviously, walking home in the heavy rain isn't the most enjoyable activity in the world, without an umbrella. 

 

The library closes in five minutes. 

 

Youngjae’s fingers twitch towards the phone in his pocket, wondering whether or not he could possibly get a ride home. He desperately wants to call Himchan to come and pick him up, but he knows he's on a date at the moment. There aren’t many options left for him, seeing as Himchan is his only friend with a license and a car. 

 

Gnawing on his bottom lip gently, he tries to think of a clever way to walk home without getting wet, but it's not possible. His best bet is to run to a nearby convenience store and buy an umbrella, but by then he'd already be soaked to the bone. Youngjae’s left to curse under his breath as he continues to observe the water pelting against the window panes that decorate the library’s large front entrance. It’s like some kind of waterfall from the way it washes over the glass. 

 

Youngjae at least tries to be optimistic about the whole situation; he thanks his lucky stars he didn't bring his backpack to study or else he'd be even more pissed if his North Face got wet (oh, and his textbooks too, he guesses). 

 

He sucks up a deep breath and straightens his back. He pulls up the hood of his white sweatshirt and steps out of the warm comfort of the library, leaving behind the aged scent of words upon paper for wet gravel and plants. 

 

At first the rain feels like tiny darts kneading into his skin, but it later numbs into the light proddings of a friend, albeit it’s still annoying. Continuously throughout his walk his hood is tossed carelessly aside by the wind, causing his thick blond locks to be matted down to his face. He's given up on it. 

 

The wind whooshes past him, making him deaf to all other sounds, not that there's anything else to hear. In this weather, there is barely anyone out and most cars are just flashes of color as drivers rush home. 

 

After the first three minutes, Youngjae's already tired of walking. His jeans cling uncomfortably against his skin, rubbing against his freezing thighs with each step. It hurts, but damn him if he stays out any longer. He quickens his pace, passing by warm restaurants and shops. 

 

He's got another ten minutes of walking left to do by the time he feels like he might collapse from the weight of his soaked clothing and the malevolent ice seeping into his joints. He feels like at any point, he’s going to be carried off by the wind and thrown against some building. 

 

Much of his path is dark and a bit dreary, the street lamps are the only objects lighting his way home. The pavement is the deepest of blacks, but from the way the street lights shines on them, it almost appears like onyx. His eyes instinctively follow the glistening, black road. 

 

It almost feels like half of his brain has turned off as he mindlessly continues home. He tries to peer pass his wet bangs and the blinding water that trickles down his face. Youngjae’s finding it incredibly hard to see. Most everything is covered by a shroud of darkness. But there’s something a little way down the street that stands out. It’s a soft touch of grey, it’s really just a small blur. If it were not for the obnoxiously loud noises resonating from it, Youngjae thinks he would have missed the figure. 

 

The blob jumps and bounces in every which way, producing mini tidal waves from the puddles it pounces upon. Youngjae wonders what kind of person just goes out at night to play in the freezing cold. He’s about to turn the street corner when the enigma shouts to him. Youngjae nearly needs to do a double take to make sure that he is the target of the words. 

 

“Amazing weather, isn’t it?” The words are slightly muffled by the harsh tappings of the rain, not at all as crisp as the laughter from earlier. From the sound of his voice, Youngjae concludes that the stranger is indeed a male. Possibly a crazy one, at that. 

 

“Are you having fun, too?”

 

All Youngjae can do is blink and wonder. 

 

“What was that? I can’t hear you!”

 

When the guy receives no answer, he continues to skip towards Youngjae, or more like gliding with ease. He’s nimble and light with his steps, never fumbling, he even jumps in every puddle along his path. The closer he gets, the easier Youngjae can distinguish his features: brunette hair, slim frame (though still slightly bigger than Youngjae’s), around the same age, and a smile that takes up the entire lower half of his face. 

 

Youngjae has no clue what keeps him glued to his spot watching the man dance among the raindrops. It’s not an everyday occurrence, he’s sure. 

 

When the guy finally reaches Youngjae’s location, his appearance is accompanied by a splash. He lands in a puddle not one foot away from the blond, leaving Youngjae’s soaked jeans one level wetter than before. 

 

“Isn’t this a wonderful night?” The words fall out of the brunette’s mouth, piercing through the cascade of rain. 

 

Youngjae furrows his brows, trying to catch the scent of alcohol. And there’s a hint, but Youngjae honestly finds it hard to trust his senses––there’s really just petrichor. 

 

Tipsy or not, though, he still has this overwhelming feeling to agree with the guy, seeing as the grin on his face seems so fixed and genuine. Youngjae nods and bites his tongue. He opens his mouth to say something when an onslaught of rainwater crashes into them from overhead. It’s a flurry of water and it’s a shock to both their systems. A car is off speeding away from them. 

 

It’s like that feeling when you're on a water ride at an amusement park and the climactic 70 foot drop causes all the water to displace into the car like a freight train at full speed. It’s a shock to the system. Water falls inside the crooks of their shirts and other crevices. However, for Youngjae, it’s a mouthful of griminess, as well. 

 

They then stare at each other in a state of mutual speechlessness. Youngjae’s jaw is hanging open and his hair dripping even more. The other guy’s in a similar state, except the fact that his face slowly contorts itself back into a smile and, soon enough, the boy’s laughing. He’s holding onto the sides of his stomach, back hunched forward, gasping for air. His laughter is infectious and loud. He’s making the ugliest expression Youngjae’s ever seen, but it works in making him smile, too. 

 

The two are both fools laughing maniacally in the pouring rain; it’s nearly impossible to tell which of the two is actually the sober one. 

 

Perhaps the rainwater was intoxicating in itself. 

 

After some time the stranger calms down and he holds his hand out to Youngjae, “I’m Daehyun. Nice to meet ya.” 

 

Youngjae clears his throat, “My name’s Youngjae.”

 

“Awesome. I’m hungry.” And that’s the only explanation Youngjae gets as he’s dragged off to God knows where in the dead of night.


	2. Chapter 2

The night continues on with them being kicked out of seven restaurants consecutively and Daehyun still has it within him to release an eye-blinding smile. From the looks of it, Youngjae doubts this is the other’s first time facing such accumulative rejection, or perhaps it's the alcohol that teases through his veins. Somehow the boy still finds it within him to smile and dance among the water droplets.

The waves of water that erupts from each of Daehyun’s splashes are always bigger than the last. They come in bursts and tides. And the water, as if painfully self-conscious, never ceases to miss Youngjae’s person. However, the blond has long but lost track of what percent of the water on his clothes is attributed to Daehyun, because, in mid-air, there is no real difference between that water and the falling rain. It still seeps into his clothes mercilessly, all the same, drenching his clothes in what Youngjae can only describe as bone chilling.

Youngjae’s envious of the other's enthusiastic nature in such cold weather, but only slightly. It’s impossible to see green with so much blue.

“Youngjae! Youngjae! Hurry up!” He calls when he notices the blond has fallen a few steps behind. Daehyun does a mess of hand movements to gesture the other one closer, and Youngjae abides, pushing past the never ending blockade of water. Daehyun laughs when Youngjae’s by his side once more.

He takes Youngjae’s hand within his cold grasp and continues down the empty road litten up by a row of streetlights and the reflections that bounce off of rain drops. The wind blows harshly, trying with all its might to move their soaked body and locks. Rain smacks against their bodies in all directions and still Daehyun walks and talks, not caring for the earthy taste that enters his mouth and kisses his lips. “Onwards to place number eight, shall we?” Daehyun jokes with a promise of adventure in his voice.

Youngjae notes that since their first encounter Daehyun has yet to clam up. His lips, blue, still move with much too much animation. He talks in excited breaths that sound like whispers under the loud pounding of the rain. Though Daehyun tries to raise his voice to match the ferocity of the weather, he never gets loud enough. He’s having a losing shouting match against the rain and it makes him look comical as he strains his throat. Youngjae doubts the importance of his words, though. He half listens and half ignores what he assumes are ramblings, to amuse the male.

Daehyun keeps up the conversation (despite the fact it’s all really one sided on his part). Youngjae wonders if Daehyun just naturally enjoys the sound of his own voice or if it’s the alcohol that causes loose lips. Either way, they arrive at the eighth restaurant and are simultaneously kicked out without Daehyun ever resting his tongue.

“Wow,” Daehyun exclaims arms wide open, as if to catch the water. “Don’t you think that old lady back there was way too harsh on us? I mean, yeah. We were dripping all over the carpet of the restaurant but isn’t the customer always right?” There’s a slight slur to his words and the beginning of a smile, or maybe its the remnants of one.

Youngjae shrugs his shoulders, which is a hard task to accomplish if you take into account the heavy weight of his clothes.

“You’re not much of a talker, are ya?” Daehyun laughs, letting his voice mix with the atmosphere.

“Pardon my shyness, I’m not used to running around at night searching for restaurants with a stranger.” Youngjae replies sarcastically with a bit of a bark. In retrospect, maybe Youngjae shouldn’t have simply followed the demands of a tipsy boy. Youngjae does not doubt the hell of a cold he’ll definitely have in the morning.

Youngjae watches as the male before him sputters, trying (and failing) to conceal a laugh, “Stranger?” he gasps, “My names Daehyun and you’re Youngjae. What more is there to know? Do I have to kiss you or something?” His words leave off with a hearty laugh as the guy doubles over in laughter.

The blond rolls his eyes, trying to keep his own smile off his face. He takes the other by the wrist this time, "Come on, all this running around has gotten me hungry, too."

"Woo! To restaurant number nine we go!" Daehyun shouts. This time Daehyun's voice is more than hushed words as he yells them directly into Youngjae's ear.

 

By some sheer force of luck, they find themselves actually being welcomed in some eating establishment instead of being cursed out by the manager. The place has hardwood floors and seems eager for customers. The waiter seats the two dripping males by the table closest to the door and places a wet floor sign right next to them. It's obnoxiously bright and yellow. Daehyun loves it.

Youngjae orders a bowl of kimchi stew while Daehyun orders two large bowls of ramyun for himself. Not one minute after they order their food does the brunette unleash a flurry of words upon him.

Daehyun tells Youngjae his whole life story in the span of five minutes (maybe even less). His words come out in a stream of misplaced memories. One moment Daehyun is a five year old at Christmas and the next he's some sixteen year old trying his first cigarette. Youngjae doesn't believe he's ever known more about a person than this point in time (and Youngjae's not sure he ever wants to again).

"When I was fifteen we got a cat with golden fur––it was kind of like your hair actually! Weird. Okay, so like it would sleep all day and never play with me. I think the thing had a personal vendetta against me cause I stepped on her tail one time, but really! It was totally an accident!" Daehyun dramatically brings his hands up to his chest in mock defense, "I was trying to walk up to my room with a bowl of snacks and my computer. You'd understand why I would never be able to notice him since my hands were so full, right? I mean, what kind of cat just sleeps on a staircase? And then when I was––"

"Your orders are ready." The waiter informs them, thankfully interrupting Daehyun's monologue with warm food. He places the steaming bowls in front of them both before quickly rushing to another table of waiting patrons.

Only is it when Daehyun's eating does he stop speaking. In fact, he is completely dead silent aside from his moans of appreciation and the slurping of noodles. He finishes both of his meals before Youngjae is through half of his and then continues to steal spoonfuls of that, too. Youngjae has to bat the other's hand away multiple times. Daehyun is not the least bit discouraged.

"Stop it." Youngjae scolds, "Isn't your stomach full yet?"

"You can never have enough food, my dear Watson. Food is the bringer of life and energy. We should treasure each day, meal, and..." Daehyun trails off into some kind of lecture about breakfast and how it's the most important meal of the day. Youngjae's mind wanders off in an effort to ignore his voice. Youngjae stares around the restaurant. He thinks Himchan would like a place like this. The older boy was always up for new places and the homey decor was to Himchan's taste, too. From the yellow lighting to the framed watercolor paintings.

By the time Youngjae comes back from his reverie to take another bite of his stew, his spoon meets the empty clang of porcelain. Youngjae looks up to meet the satisfied face of one Jung Daehyun, who looks like a man who just had a fulfilling meal.

He glares at him. Daehyun grins without shame. "You're smarter than you look." Youngjae observes.

Daehyun's does a small bow from his seat, as if he's being honored by a princess, hand on his stomach and all. "Why thank you. I have considered being a con man once." Daehyun reveals with a smile he guesses is supposed to be charming but is more like a child hyped up on sugar.

"Really...?" Youngjae inquires more, a smile tugging on his lips.

Daehyun nods his head like a bobble toy, "I am really super good at noticing things, like you wouldn't believe it! I had a detective agency once and I found lost pets and stuff." Daehyun reminisces with a fond look on his face.

"I bet you made a lot of money, huh?" Youngjae decides to further the conversation.

"Haha. Nah. My mom wouldn’t let me accept money. I got paid in food. There was this one case with a Pomeranian that was trapped under someone's porch and I got sooo much cheesecake." Daehyun goes on and on and Youngjae listens with a content smile. He admires how many stories Daehyun has to tell; Youngjae can't say he has many himself.

"Long story short: that's why I'm majoring in criminology now!" Youngjae wonders why criminology and not nutrition or cooking, "Aside from all the nasty dead bodies, there are donuts, cool cars, sexy uniforms, all the perks." Oh. Youngjae really really wonders if Daehyun makes more sense when he's sober.

"So you attend the university? I haven't seen you before." Youngjae asks, genuinely curious.

Daehyun shakes his head and chuckles, "I go to the community college down the road."

"Ahhhh..." Youngjae nods his head at the new information.

They chatter some more, this time with more participation from Youngjae. Daehyun still does most of the talking, though. The blond can't say he's as interesting as him. But a college student struggling just to get to class on time doesn’t scream Blockbuster like a pet detective agency does.

Daehyun orders dessert only after the check arrives, luckily the waitrer doesn’t seem frustrated by his behavior. He’s probably dealt with Daehyun’s kind before. The brunette announces that the two of them are going to share the sweet, however, Youngjae isn't as ecstatic about eating such a large bowl of icecream, at the moment. It's green tea flavor, though, so maybe he could make a slight exception (plus, daehyun says it’s his treat, too).

"You have to eat cold things when it's cold. That way your body can naturally heat up." Daehyun lectures with a giant scoop of ice cream on his spoon. He proceeds to have one massive brain freeze as Youngjae tries to catch his breath after laughing, trying not to spit out his spoonful.

 

 

Youngjae foots the bill because all of Daehyun's money has somehow melted due to the rain. While he pays, Daehyun keeps nagging at him to call him hyung and he promises to pay for their next meal (assuming there’s a next time). When they leave the place and enter the crushing wind and weather, Youngjae thinks it's the end of his impromptu eating excursion and that it's time to head home, but the grip on his hand says otherwise. Youngjae is once more dragged off to somewhere Daehyun wants. The only excuse Daehyun can trudge up is "it's lonely at home! Let's have some more fun for a while." Youngjae’s way too nice sometimes.

Daehyun takes Youngjae to a part of town he's never seen before, with all sorts of new sights and sounds. Youngjae can't says he's awed by the new discovery, however, seeing as he's never actually taken the time to ever explore the places by his college earlier than this. Daehyun drags him from shop to shop (which they all get kicked out of, eventually).

 

They look at random trinkets together, some of which are enthusiastically shoved in Youngjae’s face. They kind of have to stop going to the stores once he almost gets suffocated by a stuff rabbit doll. He might be coughing up fur balls later.

 

 

When Youngjae looks at his phone, it is close to midnight and Youngjae is bewildered how he could spend so much time with the older boy without noticing the time that was slipping by. Youngjae’s close to screwed. If he doesn't go home soon, an onslaught of worried texts from Himchan will spam his phone.

Youngjae reluctantly tries to tell Daehyun he has to go but the other simply begs, “One more place! One more place, please." Youngjae folds and agrees.

That one more place is the ocean. Daehyun drags the blond on a twenty minute walk to the beach. A place Youngjae has failed to see in the past few months since he's been a college student.

The place is freezing. He imagines this is what Antarctica feels like.

Daehyun is screaming and jumping all over the place in dizzying exhilaration. Like the road they walked on, the ocean is a wide expanse of black that only glitters with certain colors. It doesn’t look deadly or dangerous, just a mass. It isn’t anything special, but he supposes it is kind of pretty.

The waves move with some kind of intentions, moving to and from the sand. The sea foam bubbles up in it’s pearl white, soaking into the drenched earth. It shyly stops at their feet before receding, as if weary of their presence. And Youngjae doesn’t blame the ocean. From the way the rain ripples the water, he doubts any sane person would venture out so late at night. But, of course, there are two kinds of people in the world:

"Youngjae! Let's swim!" Daehyun's already in full sprint towards the rushing tides, in clothes and all.

Youngjae’s sits back, dubious and not quite as welcoming to the idea of hyperthermia. He’s more content with waiting for and letting Daehyun have his fun, instead.

Youngjae plants himself on the sand which sinks under his weight. He drags his finger and doodles on the sediments. His drawings stay for a minute or two before being washed away a while later. He writes his name and the date. He knows he might not remember this night years down the line, perhaps even weeks, but he wants to memorialize it, even if it is just momentary. He writes Daehyun’s name as an afterthought.

He admires the rough chickenscratch of sand before staring back out. The clouds are still dark and overbearing. Youngjae wonders why Daehyun hasn’t returned to the beach yet. His fingers twitch anxiously but he reassures himself that everything is fine. He draws a couple of more circles in the sand. They're stick figures and kind of resemble––

“Youngjae!” he hears his name in the distance. “Help!”

He whips his head in time to see Daehyun out in the water still, not too far away, flailing his arms. One second Youngjae can see his head and the next it is enveloped by a gulp of water.

In a frenzied panic Youngjae runs to the perilous water which is no longer as calm as it was in the morning. Now it looks treacherous and murderous and other horrible adjectives that end in -ous.

His clothes stagger his running speed but he’s in there in no time, ready to swallow lungfuls of water. The salt burns Youngjae's skin with frost. And that's when Youngjae remembers something: he's not much of a swimmer himself.

The freezing water drowns him and blinds him. It’s like the sand in his shoes are weighing him down as he’s engulfed almost completely. His body involuntarily coughs to expel the water, only to intake more. He frantically searches for Daehyun while ignoring the pain in his eyes. Youngjae wastes all his energy looking before he thinks the water in his body is forcing him to sink. As if after consuming a certain percent of the ocean, it feels the right to own him.

Youngjae thinks this must be the end and he’s an even bigger idiot than he thought Daehyun was. Bubbles arise upon the surface from where he’s fallen below, popped by the pierce of the raindrops.

He only resurfaces when he feels an arm around his waist and a hand on his back. Mermaids must exist, Youngjae thinks as he’s pulled back to the dirty sand.

There are blue and chapped lips pressed against his own. He feels the air his body so desperately needs being delivered in with ease. He kind of feels bad when he spits water onto his savior’s face, he kind of liked the feel of them, too. He thinks he would blush if he had enough body temperature to, especially at how loud the laughter hitting his ears is.

“Oh, God! That was so much fun. Did you see any of the fishes that were down there?” Daehyun doesn’t even care that Youngjae was close to death, or seems aware, as he drops a handful of seashells from his pockets. “Too bad you couldn’t gather some shells with me too, but I guess I could give you half and––”

Youngjae lunges up and tackles Daehyun onto his back in newfound strength that’s only accompanied by anger. They find themselves wrestling on the beach, getting sand everywhere. The suspected growls are smoothened into laughter. They tussle and pull each other’s hair playfully before they find themselves laying side by side, chests heaving with shit eating grins on their faces. They’re too tired out to form coherent sentences. But they’re breathlessness is a conversation of its own. It sounds like joy and being able to let your guard down and just two idiots on the beach, in general.

Water trails down their cheeks and hits their tongues. It’s salty with a hint of something familiar. They’re insane. They must be. They don’t care.

Daehyun screams into the night after cooling down. His voice breaking the rain up. Youngjae joins him. It’s funny how swiftly silence becomes exhilarating shouts.

It’s certainly not the serene night Youngjae had planned after a long day of studying. It’s not the warm bath or the bubbles he wanted to prepare for it and neither is it a warm bed and a pile of pillows. It’s something all together better. Something that makes his adrenaline rush and his heart beat. He feels warm and fuzzy, like he’s having actual fun (like if soda was 80% sugar, then youngjae’s having 100% of it). He thinks it’s a shame that the sun is going to rise soon and ruin their night, yet at the same time if the night were to drag on, it’ll be getting closer for one of them to go home.

Youngjae turns to look at Daehyun. His eyes trace his side-profile, admiring the curvature of his nose and lips, not missing how they shine. Daehyun turns to stare back at him and he sees the reflection of his own feelings in Daehyun’s eyes. Neither of them want this time to end. Daehyun takes a hold of Youngjae’s hand, interlocking their fingers together. He holds it up high enough for Youngjae to stare at their connection. Both their hands are wrinkled and that makes Youngjae bellow with laughter again. He swings their hands back and forth like he’s seen the couples who walk around his college so often do. But, really, he’s just smacking their hands against the ground and it makes them both burst with giggles.

The water has fried their brain cells.

 

“We should come back here sometime in the day.” Youngjae thinks aloud.

Daehyun eagerly nods his head, the alcohol once streaming through his system most likely having filtered away. Youngjae assumes so thanks to the boy’s now less than active mouth. But maybe the two are just comfortable with each other and words aren’t even that necessary.

He had asked him earlier if he was having fun and Youngjae’s sure that he is.

 

Daehyun unravels their hands eventually and Youngjae’s only slightly upset. “C’mon. Let me walk you home. I’ve kept you out for long enough, don’t you think?”

And though Youngjae wants to convince him to stay out longer, he instead says “I can walk home myself.”

“Ohhhh. Sassy. But for a detective to be, I can’t let you walk home by yourself. There are weirdos around. What do you say to letting a gentleman escort you home?”

Youngjae breaths out a sigh, followed by a smile, “If you provide the gentleman. But I don’t think I see one.” He then pokes Daehyun in his side, watching the other spazm, with quick amusement.

Daehyun pouts and holds onto his side for self-defense, “You know what I mean!”

He nods his head, “Okay, but let’s stay here for a little bit more. Please?”

Daehyun doesn’t need to say anything for Youngjae to understand that he shares the same sentiment.

Some more of the clouds have cleared up, just enough for them to see a couple of stars against the backdrop of black. Unlike the grey of the clouds, they’re white and somewhat gleaming. Youngjae thinks he sees some constellations, but their names escape him.

Daehyun is talking beside him about a topic Youngjae doesn’t care about but feels compelled to because Daehyun does. Whatever it is Daehyun’s rambling about, it sure is interesting. Their hands have found their ways back together and they remain between the two of them.

Youngjae’s brain has long since stopped hearing the storm and has opted to fill itself with the own beating of his heart. His bloodflow is all fucked up and he thinks maybe it is time to get up and return to reality.

“Daehyun,” he breaths, “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

The older boy jumps to his feet, never releasing his hold of Youngjae’s hand, dragging the ladder up with him. Youngjae resists the frown on his wet face because he’s afraid he’ll never have this much fun or spontaneous nights ever again.

Daehyun smiles, “Why the long face? Are you that upset I kept you from your bedtime for so long?”

Youngjae lamely lands a punch onto Daehyun’s arm. He reciprocates by holding onto it in pain. “Overreacting much?” he replies with a toothy grin.

“No. This is me overreacting.” Daehyun grabs a hold of Youngjae’s arms and drags him close enough to have their noses bump against each other. Their lips are centimeters apart and Youngjae flinches and closes his eyes instinctively, anticipating the oncoming kiss.

He hears Daehyun laugh before feeling his wet bangs being moved aside and a kiss placed on his forehead.

“Hey, man. Only one kiss a day and I already gave you CPR.” he jokes.

“Wha––”

“How about this? I’ll race you home and winner gets to kiss the other as much as they want?”

“But––”

“3! 2! 1!” Daehyun runs off into the night. “GO!”

“Daehyun! You don’t even know where I live!” Youngjae shouts as he chases after the rambunctious maniac, trying to close the gap which separates them. It doesn't take long before they're next to each other again. It's not much of a race when one has to drag the other by the hand.

Their laughter fills the air.


End file.
